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 Leseprobe aus A Plague of Angels

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Anzahl der Beiträge : 114
Anmeldedatum : 14.10.07

BeitragThema: Leseprobe aus A Plague of Angels   Sa 03 Mai 2008, 11:41

Das hatte ich damals in einem anderen Forum geschrieben :-)

Es ist immer schwer, was aus dem Zusammenhang zu reißen, aber ich versuchs mal:

Shakespeare hat einer Dame (Mätresse von Carey's Vater) ein Sonett geschrieben und dafür von der Angebeteten eins über die Rübe gehauen bekommen:

... With passionate ceremony Mistress Bassano tore up the papers (das Sonett eben ), dug obscenely under her petticoats with them and then dropped the in a jordan (Pisspott :-) held by her giggling maid. (...) Shakespeare stood with his mouth open and his hands out in desperation at this sacrilege. Mistress Bassano nodded to her maid who threw the contents of the jordan with deadly aim at his head. The other walkers in the street had scattered away from him as soon as they saw the jordan, but Shakespeare just stood there, with soiled sheets of paper fluttering around him and something horrible stuck to his doublet. (...)

An anderer Stelle fragt Dodd dann Shakespeare (alle sind schon etwas betrunken)

... 'Ye've not had a good couple of days either, have ye?' Dodd said sympathetically. 'And what was it ye had me given to Mistress Bassano (Dodd war der Überbringer) yesterday that made her so wild with ye?'
Shakespeare blinked gloomily at the sherry-dregs in the bottom of his mug. 'Sh...sonnets.'
'Ay,' said Dodd cautiously, not willing to reveal that he didn't know what a sonnet was. The little bald player siled wanly. 'Poems. Rhymes. In praise ... in praise of Mistress Bassano.'
'They werenae lewd?'
'No, of course not. They were classical. I compared her to Helen of Troy, Aphrodite, Aurora goddess of the dawn, likened her hair to gold poured from an alchemist's flask, her eyes to sapphires...'
'But her hair's black and her eyes are brown.'
'It's poetical symbolism.'
'Ay. Does she ken that or does sche think ye werenae thinking of her at all?' This produced an odd effect. Shakespeare stared at him for severeal minutes together with mouth open, looking a comlete simpleton. 'Only,' Dodd added, making a real effort to help the man, 'if I told my wife I loved her for her yellow hair, she'd hit me with a rolling pin in the certainty I was playing her false wi' a blonde. She's readhead,' he added, for completeness. (...)

Da hat es bei Shakespeare wohl geklingelt, denn am nächsten Tag auf einem Empfang ...

'Mr Shakespeare,' he (Earl Southampton, der Gastgeber) called to them across the room. 'A fair lady has just made a serious complaint against you. What have you to say?'
Shakespeare paused in mid-analysis of the contribution clothes made to a play - part (er hatte gerade mit Dodd über die Schauspielerei geplaudert), swallowed what he had in his mouth whole, and stood up.
'What was her complaint, my Lord Earl?' His voice had changed. It was clearer, less flat, less dull.
'She alleges that you used the fair muse of poetry to tell lies. I had heard better of you. Can it be true?'
Shakespeare paused, looking narrowly at Mistress Bassano who had a cruel expression on her face, rather like a cat torturing a mouse, and then at the Earl who was half laughing at him. Now that was an interesting sight to see, Dodd thought, because something inside the man shifted, you might almost say hardened. It was as if he came to some decision.
‚My lord Earl,’ said Shakespeare judiciously, his flat vowels filling the parlour full of overdressed people quite easily. ‘I’m sorry to say that it is true, if she means the poor sonnets I sent her the other day.’
‘So you admit the crime of corrupting the muse?’
‘I do, my lord. The bill is foul. The sonnets I made to her praise should never have been sent.’
Mistress Bassano, who had clearly been expecting a pleasant few minutes of poet-baiting, now looked puzzled.
‘Then you apologise to the lady?’ pursued the Earl.
‘I do, my lord. Unreservedly. I should never have said that her hair outrivalled the dawn nor that her voice put the birds to shame.’ (!!!!)
‘And what will you do for your penance, Mr Shakespeare?’
‘Why, with the lady’s permission, I’ll read another of my poems.’
Perhaps because he was sitting right next to the man, only Dodd saw the tension in Shakespeare.
‘Compounding your crime, Mr Shakespeare?’ sneered the Earl. Shakespeare smiled quite sweetly. ‘No, my lord. Telling the truth.’
‘A truthful poet. An oxymoron, to be sure?’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Mistress Bassano? As Queen of the company, do you allow this?’
Creamy shoulders shrugged expressively. ‘He may emarass himself again, if he wishes,’ she said.
The Earl waved a negligent hand to Shakespeare, who fumbled in the front of his doublet for his notebook, brought it out and opened it.

‘My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.’

Carey began by staring in shock, but then he smiled. The Earl laughed. Shakespeare let the titters pass round the room and continued.

‘I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.’
The whole room was laughing, except for Mistress Bassano who had locked her stare on Shakespeare. The player ignored her.

‘I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.’

You had to admire what the player was doing. He paused for long enough to let the laughter die down again. And then for the first time he looked Mistress Bassano full in the face, like a man taking aim with a loaded caliver, and gave the last two lines.

‘And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.’

So ist also das 130ste Sonett entstanden :-)))

Liebe Grüße
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